


I'm always all for you

by yazzyinatardis



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 11:56:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2772137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yazzyinatardis/pseuds/yazzyinatardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Late one night, Barry Allen enters Jitters with trembling hands and wet eyes and confesses to Iris that he is The Flash. She breaks his nose and promptly bursts into tears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm always all for you

**Author's Note:**

> It is very fitting that these two dorks would restore my passion for writing. Can they get any more perfect? Especially since I've loved them and the Flash family by extension, since forever. Enjoy :)

 

 

Late one night, Barry Allen enters Jitters with trembling hands and wet eyes and confesses to Iris that he is The Flash.

She breaks his nose and promptly bursts into tears.

 

 

Iris would formally like to set the record straight:

It was not on purpose. She promises this. For real.  Barry might claim otherwise –dramatically change the narrative to make him seem more…heroic or something, build himself up as a martyr or …or the victim of the situation, but the truth is thus – she accidentally smacked him in the face.

 

(Sometime in the future he’ll attempt to tickle her into submission. “Admit it! Say you did it on purpose!”and Iris will _deny, deny, deny_ till she’s blue in the face. “FYI, if you did set out to break my nose; that would in no way lessen my affection for you.  Just putting it out there.”)

 

The point is, she had already been aware of his double identity for two months before he decided to grow a guilty conscious, so you know; it was _not_ a case of calculated explosion of anger and hurt feelings.

 

Besides this is her side of the story and there’s no better authority on this narrative than Iris herself, so here is a detailed account, for future references and the like.

 

* * *

 

 This is stupid. This is very, very stupid, potentially dangerous and yeah, being stupid has kind of been her default setting lately which explains why she’s in an abandoned waterfront warehouse at night, arranging a meet up with an anonymous source that’s been pestering her for over a month with claims of _“having caught the streak on film.”_

 

(During the follow up he supplied other credible clues.

Male. At least six feet.  Red spandex overalls. Lightning bolt.)

 

Her phone rings and the source directs her to the photos – in an envelope, sealed in a clear plastic bag, taped to the underside of a rickety table. Iris fancies herself starring in a classic film noir a la _Kiss Me Deadly_ with all this cloak and dagger business, rain dripping softly against the window panels, wind howling and rustling the naked trees, high heels clicking on the wet pavements. She’s even appropriately dressed in a black trench coat and well, _that_ might have more to do with the blistering cold of February than any deluded fantasy role-play she’s acting out.

 

“This is officially the dumbest thing I’ve ever done and I’m going to regret and oh sweet _jesus!_ ”

 

Her hands shake and the whole world tilts sharply to the right and then left and she regrets it, regrets it _so fucking much_ because, she knows now.

 

She knows that familiar gleaming teeth, that profile and jaw line. And oh that cleft.

She knows the man inside the red blur.

She _knows_.

 

“Satisfied?” the source asks, voice spilling out of her forgotten cell phone. “Now, leave the 200 hundred on the table.”

 

She leaves him three.

 

That is how she finds out that her best friend is a superhero.

 

* * *

 

 

This is how they become friends in the first place.

 

Iris is two months shy of nine and Mrs. Kaplan has already referred her to the educational therapist twice. “Hyperactive,” she tells Joe somberly. “Easily distracted and very disruptive in class. She is smart; no doubt about it but the problem is lack of focus. If she applied herself, she could easily make it to the top 5 of the class.” A pause. “Are there any problems at home?”

 

Joe is an overworked beat cop assigned to the most dangerous neighbourhood in the city and a father to a vivacious and reckless daughter.

 

“No,” he says with such conviction that Iris truly believes him.  “Everything is fine.”

 

Two days later, she’s sitting on the fire escape (she chose to ignore the INCASE OF AN EMERGENCY sign and bypassed the alarm), trading Pokémon cards with Brick Miller. Brick Miller is in sixth grade from the wrong side of the tracks, built like a gigantic wrecking ball and a habitual abuser of half the populace of the school. He doesn’t necessary like Iris per se, but her dad’s a cop and she punched him in the face and made him bleed so they have formed a truce.

 

Iris hasn’t done her math homework again and she figures – if she avoids going to class for the 15 minutes it would approximately take for roll call and homework check up to be over, she could manage to stay out of trouble and not be grounded.

 

She’s busy planning her alibi -  I missed the bus, I wasn’t feeling well, I went to the infirmary, I wasn’t feeling well so I missed the bus and then went to the infirmary! -  when she spots the figure of Barry Allen in free-fall. His arms flail comically and his eyes bulge out in fear and then he drops with an ‘ _ouf!_ ’ that carries in the wind.

 

Brick Miller finds this hysterical.

Iris feels sorry for him.

 

Barry attempts to walk and fails at it dismally.

 

“Here, let me help you up.”

 

His face is scrunched up in pain, sweat rolling into his eyes but he manages a shy smile and takes her hand. “Thanks. I was late and running to class and I think I tripped over a root or s-something. I’m usually not this clumsy.”  (That’s a bold faced lie, Iris knows because she sits behind him on the school bus and they share the same PE class and god, how hard is it to actually kick a ball?) “I think it’s the shoelaces, you know. I didn’t double knot them. My mom’s always telling me to do it but –“

“You’re Barry right? Barry Allen?” she asks, halting his panicky ramblings. His cheeks flush deep and Iris gets a thrill from the sight.

“Yeah. And you’re Iris West. You’re dad’s a cop right and you’re the one who punched Brick Miller in the face last year.”

 

Brick stops laughing.

 

She takes him to infirmary and while the nurse is bandaging his sprained ankle, she realizes the fortune that’s been dropped onto her lap.

 

Eventually they get to class with 10 minutes remaining, Barry’s arm looped over Iris’s shoulder, adorning matching grins. They produce their permits with flourish and Iris’s practically gleeful when she explains, “Barry had an accident and hurt his ankle. I had to take him to the nurse because, as you can see, he can barely walk on his own. That’s why I am late.”

 

Mrs. Kaplan gives a weary sigh and nods. “Very well then. Take a seat, both of you.”

 

* * *

 

 

 Iris has a detailed and comprehensive list of people she absolutely trusts in no particular order.

 

  * ~~Her father~~
  * ~~Bartholomew Henry Allen~~
  *          Lois Lane



 

 

At least, she muses bitterly, Lois Lane is yet to disappoint her this year.

* * *

 

 Post-coma Barry is a phenomenal liar, Iris thinks.  If she wasn’t so betrayed, she would have been majorly impressed. How did he manage to keep this big secret from her? How clueless was she?

 

_“When we were kids I loved you even before I knew what the word love meant.”_

 

She recalls his confession and the way his voice trembled, the way her entire world collapsed with a few well chosen words that flew out of his soft lips. How her chest tingled and the subsequent sleepless nights.

The answer:  she was very, very clueless.

 So she observes his behavior – sweet, tardy and utterly dorky Barry – and plays it close to the chest.   Gives him a chance to come clean. To build back the trust that he broke so carelessly.

 

 Barry Allen is The Flash: the fastest man alive.

 A superhero.

 The impossible.

 Her guardian angel.

 

_Her guardian angel._

 

She wonders if anyone’s has ever died from second hand embarrassment.

 

 

(When Barry returns for his load he thanks Iris as she rushes past him for helping out with his laundry. Her smile is angelic. “No problem, Bear.”

All of his whites are no more.)

 

* * *

 

 

She has documented in detail, every single fight she’s had with Barry in all the time they have known each other.There have been four to be exact and every one of them hurt like a bitch because, it’s Barry and fighting with him is like getting whacked in the solar plexus with a baseball bat.

 

It tastes like heart break.

Barry Allen has smashed her heart to smithereens.

Fucking hell.

 

* * *

 

 

For a week Iris is shrouded in a heavy cloud of mixed emotions that she can’t, for the life of her, decipher. She shows up to classes, works on her dissertation and puts in her hours at Jitters.  She tries to avoid the rooftop as much as she can – it makes her heart throb painfully.

 

Eddie notices something’s not right.

“Trouble in paradise?”

“Huh?”

“You and Allen fight again?”

“What!? No! Why? Did he say something?”

“No, but you’re giving me visual cues that suggest otherwise.”

“Everything’s fine. I promise.”

 

During the customary West Family Sunday Lunch (capitlized because it is an event of utmost importance!) Joe puts down his fork and looks Barry and Iris in the eyes. “Do I have to bust out the Stevie Wonder and start tap dancing or are the two of you gonna kiss and make up.”

 

Barry, the clueless, lying liar snorts. “We’re not 12 any more Joe. You clowning around to cheer us up has gotten old. Besides, everything’s cool. Right, Iris?”

 

She envisions the butter knife sticking out of his abnormally long neck.  He’d heal fast so the pain would be short-lived but the intention would be loud and clear.

Her smile could cut glass. “Everything is fine, dad.”

 

She ‘accidentally’ swipes her arm across the table in an effort to get to the salad bowl and the wine splashes over Barry’s second favorite sweater.

 

“IRIS!”

 

It was ugly anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

She knows she’s being petty – she’s developed selective amnesia whenever Barry suggests hangouts or movies, she has single-handedly ruined most of his wardrobe and been short-tempered, grumpy and bordering on rude – but she can’t help herself.

 

 Just when they have gotten past the awkwardness of his ill timed confession and managed to redefine their boundaries – zero talks about feelings, platonic or otherwise, minimum bodily contact – and Iris has finally managed to get five hours in the rack on the regular, now, _now_ , he pulls this. 

 

 She is perpetually seething.

 

But sometimes she manages to forget about it, ends up laughing with him until her belly hurts, his head on her lap, her fingers in his hair. Just like they used to when they were normal and innocent.  Before the coma. Before she learned to live with the bottomless pit inside her body as she watched him die over and over and over again. 

And then his phone will ring and he will make up a very lame excuse and two minute later, she will receive a Google alert about The Flash, saving a boy, rescuing a pregnant lady, catching a killer.

 

Reality will come crashing back and she will find herself intensely feeling emotions and the tears will not be from laughing, but from the stone perpetually lodged in her throat.

 

So she destroys his clothes and arrives late and she is well within her rights because _she’s_ the injured party in this scenario, thank you very much.

 

* * *

 

 

 Eddie breaks up with her on a Saturday afternoon with little to no drama. He’s perched on the arm of the chair, tie hanging loose, wearing a grave expression. She’s on her laptop, writing yet another email to Lois Lane requesting to be considered as a viable candidate for the Daily Planet internship program.

He blindsides her.

Eddie’s eyes are kind and full of hurt, which is so fucking ridiculous because he’s the one breaking them up.

“I’m sorry, Iris,” he says. “One day you’ll understand.”

 

Are those tears in his eyes? Seriously?

 

“Just know, you’re the one walking away from us."

He shakes his head, gaze fixed on the wedding band she never takes off. “No, babe, I’ve been holding onto you for dear life and you just didn’t see it.” He sniffs. “But you will. Someday.”

 

“Yeah, maybe.”

 

He checks into a hotel, you know, to give her space – because even when he’s a douche, he’s still considerate and good.

 

Five minutes later, Barry knocks on her door. “Iris, Eddie called. Are you okay?”

 

She doesn’t let him in.

 

* * *

 

 

“I’ll never break your heart,” Barry had once told her, while in high school. “Hell, I’d probably punch out anyone who does.”

They’re both drunk, lying underneath the stars. Her prom dress has grass stains, his bowtie is gone. They are celebrating her first romantic failure at the hands of Kevin O’ Donnelly.

She laughs. “You’d probably break your hand.”

“Worth it” he whispers with an earnest face and Iris’s heart swells three sizes. She finds it difficult to breathe, like steel bands had wrapped around her chest.  It terrifies her –this foreign feeling that takes root within her from time to time, always in the presence of this boy. So she faces away from him and looks up at the sky instead.

 

“You’re worth it too, Bear. Remember that.”

* * *

 

  So we come to this:

 

 Barry’s hesitant, eyes never settling in one place, hands shaky. The sight of him like this – dishevelled, vulnerable and on the verge of a panic attack, violently thrusts Iris back to the night Joe brought him home. He was so traumatized, so wild and inconsolable– she learned about fear and despair and how broken the world truly is back then.

 

 She is furious and hurt but it’s Barry and honestly, his hurt and suffering cuts deeper than her own.

 

“I know,” she tells him. He breaks into sweat and his lower lip quivers. “I know, Barry.  I have known for over a month.”

He blinks once, twice, opens his mouth and closes it. He settles on being a queen and dropping into the armchair with such dramatic flair. “W-what?”

“You’re The Flash. I know it.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I was waiting for you.”

“Iris, I’m so, so, _so_ sorry. I wanted to tell you but –“

 

She knows how this goes because she knows him better than she knows herself. “You wanted to protect me. You and dad. The two of you,” and now that she’s actually vocalizing her emotions, Iris realizes that nothing is okay.  Nothing has been okay. “You two were in cahoots. Yes I know I said cahoots Barry, shut the fuck up because, right now,  I’m really _this_ close to socking you. How could you! You lied to me Barry. Not once, not twice but every day. Every damn day. You’ve been lying to me, manipulating me and making fun of me for -.”

 

He’s in front of her before she can blink, tears trapped in his eyelashes. “I _never_ made fun-“

“Yes you did, Barry. Every time I mentioned The Fla-mentioned _you_ , you’d give a derisive snort or try to dissuade me by make it seem like I was a crazy person!” She’s chuckles bitterly. “ God, even after I told you that I was doing this _for you_ ,” she hits his chest because her throat is constricting and her eyes are burning and he doesn’t have any right to look at her like he’s heartbroken, like his world has been ripped away. “I was doing this for you and- and you didn’t have the decency to tell me. How could you!”

  
He’s the immovable object.

She’s the unstoppable force.

 

Iris would sooner get shot in the foot than let him see her cry so she turns to walk away. Barry grabs her shoulder and she tries to pull her arm away. Her elbow meets his face and there’s a sickening crunch and blood and Barry gives a girly yelp.

Iris stares at him in horror and realization dawns on her- it would have been so easy for him to dodge the blow – _hello_ , fastest man alive.

 

“You let me hit you!” she cries

“I’m sorry,” he whispers nasally.”I just wanted to protect you.”

Iris bursts into tears and Barry runs away.

 

* * *

 

 

(“You had it coming,” Caitlin scolds him sternly. She sets his nose without warning and Barry howls in agony. “I warned you, didn’t I?)

 

* * *

 

 

When Caitlin finds her on the rooftop of Jitters three hours later, Iris is just north of shit-faced with Tracy’s secret stash of tequila. Caitlin smiles, pulls up a chair and keeps her company.  Drunk Iris isn’t the most scintillating conversationalist but she does her best to contribute: there are tears involved, full-fledged histrionics followed by colorful curses directed at Barry. She cruelly recounts every embarrassing event in Barry Allen’s life and then immediately feels bad about it, which results in more tears and Caitlin rubbing her back soothingly.

 

“I mean, he…he’s my _best friend_! Do you lie to _your_ best friend? No…right! B-because it’s de…d…d-“

“Despicable?”

“Deplorable! Bartholomew Henry Allen is a…a deplorable person. And I –I hate him. I hate him sooooo much, Cait.”

 _Cait_ is sceptical. “You do?”

“Yes, I do. I very much do because he’s trouble! First he g-gets himself struck by light…light –“

“Lightning?”

“Lightning. And then he kept dying. Oh God, he kept _dying_. I watched him die so many times and I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t save him and all my life, all I wanted to do was protect him. It isn’t fair! I was the one who had t-to live without him, for nine months.  Nine months! I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t _breathe._ And he was gone, you know, just cashed out and left m-me, left us and now, now he’s the superhero. In what universe is Barry Allen a superhero! What the fuck!”

“I don’t know if this is any comfort,” Caitlin begins with kindness. “But Dr.Wells, Cisco and I have his back the whole time. We won’t ever let anything bad happen to him.”

Drunk she may be but Iris notes the sincerity in Caitlin’s voice. “I never thanked you for saving his life before so thank you. I don’t know how’d live without him in the world and now I don’t have to find out because of you. And Cisco and Dr. Wells.”

“He’s that important to you?”

Iris runs a hand down her face in exasperation. “You have no idea. It’s like…he’s a part of me. An exp-expansion, no, wait, that’s not –“

“An extension,” Caitlin corrects her with rare laughter present in her voice.

“Yes! An extension of myself. Like, you know, an extra limb that you absolutely need. I can’t remember what life before him was like. He has always been there, beside me, everyday. Birthdays, Christmases, prom, graduation. Every milestone, every achi..achievement, there he was. Cheering me on, believing in me even before I believed in myself. He’s deeply ingrained in every crevice of my soul and I can’t live without him…”

 

  Yes, so that is how Iris West realizes she is in love with Barry Allen, in the midst of a drunken stupor with a sort-of friend as a witness to the entire cringe-worthy affair.

“Iris? Are you okay?”

“Caitlin,” Iris’s voice wobbles. “I think I’m in love with my best friend.”

 shit.

 She reaches for more tequila.

* * *

 

 

The next morning finds her sitting on the fire escape of CCU Psychology department, cradling her head and waiting for the aspirin to kick in. A familiar shadow falls over her and Iris squints against the harsh sunlight and stares at Barry.

 

Her heart quivers.

 

“You weren’t at home,” he starts. “Caitlin said you got pretty drunk last night.”

She groans in pain. “Barry, please, not now. Not today. I feel like keeling over and just _dying_.”

 

A blast of air and she’s alone.

 

It’s not like she actually _meant_ it.

 

He’s back half a minute later with a tray of brownies, water and cold compressors. Iris wants to weep in gratitude.

“They’re still hot!” she cries in delight. “Wait, you did not just make them right now, did you?”

Barry’s grin is superior. “Nah, I just borrowed them.”

Iris is not impressed. “You stole them!”

“ _Borrowed._   I left the lady a note and five dollars. Look, do you want them or not.”

 

Iris balances the tray on her lap and Barry squeezes in beside her on the narrow steps, placing the compress against her temple. She shivers against her will as his fingers graze her skin and dammit, she’s torn between screaming at the unfairness of it all and just throwing caution to wind.  Barry’s gentle with her, his motion slow and deliberate and ever since Christmas, Iris has been just so _aware,_ as if every nerve ending in her body is attuned to him. It’s suffocating; it’s electric and just this side of teenage.

  He brushes her hair back with one hand, the other holding the compress and his eyes study her while she munches on silently.

“I don’t care if you don’t forgive me,” he begins hesitantly. “I mean I do but I don’t expect it.  I lied to you and kept you in the dark and I knew, okay, I knew it would hurt you but you gotta believe me Iris, I wanted to protect you. It’s all I ever wanted to do and you’ll never know how sorry I am.”

 

Iris realizes that this is the first time they have had an honest conversation in forever and it’s comforting and familiar and real.  It’s been tiring, she thinks, the constant worry over Barry’s well-being, of their relationship, of keeping it all in. They have been off-kilter ever since the night of the particle accelerator and suddenly, it’s imperative that they fix whatever that broke, to start sharing again.

 

The solution is simple.

 

“It’s okay, Bear. You’re forgiven.” His relief is palpable. “On the condition that you never, ever, lie to me again.”

Barry pulls her into a fierce hug. “I promise. Thank you.”

Iris pushes him away when the nausea begins to kick in. “I’m still mad at you, though.”

His answering smile is huge. Dork. “Understandable.”

“You will have to make it up to me.”

“Anything you want.”

“Right now, I want you to shut up. My head feels like it’s going to split open in half.”

 

They sit there, huddled together in companionable silence, Barry playing with her hair, Iris not sharing her brownies and she’s certain that things are far from a-okay but it’s not like there are self help books dedicated to having a superhero for a best friend. It’s a learning process and it’s the impossible and Iris West has always been a believer.

 

They will be fine.

 

* * *

 

 

“Oh, and Barry, I think I’m like, kind of in love with you too.”

“W-what!”

 

 

~~  _fin~~_


End file.
